


Makes Me Ill

by rideswraptors



Series: Gallavich Shorts [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Wedding, Running into Ian's exes, foul and non-PC language warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: Ian was running late. That’s what happened when certain inconsiderate people (Karen) didn’t show up for their shifts on time (Karen) and got into it with a supervisor (Karen) before having a meltdown and leaving their poor co-worker to do her job (Karen!). So here he was, sprinting to the restaurant after his train ran late, the night before his first day off in a month, where Mickey was waiting for him for their first adult-no kids-we’re married date in over three months.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gallavich Shorts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611559
Comments: 42
Kudos: 316





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to throw in a running into Ian's exes fic since everybody else is!  
> (And yes, the title is an N'Sync reference, it made sense at the time, thanks and goodbye)

Ian was running late. That’s what happened when certain inconsiderate people ( _Karen)_ didn’t show up for their shifts on time ( _Karen)_ and got into it with a supervisor ( _Karen)_ before having a meltdown and leaving their poor co-worker to do her job ( _Karen!)_. So here he was, sprinting to the restaurant after his train ran late, the night before his first day off in a month, where Mickey was waiting for him for their first adult-no kids-we’re married date in over three months. 

He would have gotten there a lot _faster_ if he hadn’t heard his name being called on the street. Confused, he spun on his heel, looking around for the source only to see, you guessed it. His ex. Ned, of all people. And, oh good, he wasn’t alone. 

“Ian!” he called out again, brightly and calmly as ever. “Fancy seeing you here!” 

God, he was such a creep. As a teenager, Ian had thought Ned was cool and sophisticated. Maybe he was, a little. But he was also a creep. He’d aged in the fifteen years plus since he’d seen him, no shock there. He still looked pretty good ( _botox)_. And, go figure, the guy with him was tall and a third his age. Just Ned’s type. 

Ian gave him a thin lipped smile. “Yeah, small world. Sorry, I need to--”

“Didn’t I see you on the news a few years back? Something about arson?” He was being glib, showing off for his new boy toy. It didn’t escape his notice that he didn’t bother introducing anyone. Ian bit back a scathing retort when he chuckled. “Well, seems like you’ve turned things around.” 

Ian laughed through his nose. “Proper medication does that for you.” 

“Medica--”

“Ned, my husband is waiting for me. So if you don’t mind--” 

“Husband?” Ned laughed. “You got married! I always figured you for the club scene, not the suburbs.” 

Ian was sneering now. “Still on the south side. You can get a marriage license there, too.” 

He tried to turn away but Ned reached for him. Ian made it clear that wasn’t going to fly very quickly. Ned put his hands up and took a step back, still smiling, like always. 

“ _Gallagher_!” 

Oh shit. They all looked to see Mickey coming down the sidewalk, sport jacket over his arm and a button popped. Ian smirked internally, knowing Mickey was probably breaking into hives being alone in a restaurant where they didn’t put prices on the menu, but he looked hot as hell dressed up and rumpled. Looked pissed off too. Ian threw his hands up.

“I tried!” he offered lamely. “Fucking Karen--!”

Mickey jabbed a finger at him. “I told you to take care of that bitch months ago--”

“Babe, I _know_ \--”

“And now she’s ruining date night? Fuck that, wh--?” He stopped short when he realized they had a rather bemused audience. Ian watched Mickey mentally process Ned’s face, flipping through whatever catalogue of people he hated until he landed on the correct amount of disgust. Ian could see the exact moment he landed on it and rounded on him.

“Since when are you talking to pedo grandpas again?” he snapped.

“I’m not. We just ran into each other.” Mickey’s brows shot right up, challenging. Ian put his hands out. “He stopped me. Hand to god.” 

Ned was wagging his finger at Mickey in recognition. “I took a bullet out of your ass.” His young date balked, looking horrified. Ned put a hand to his shoulder. “No, I did. He got shot stealing something from my ex wife.”

“Yeah, you paid me to do that, asshole,” Mickey sneered, putting himself between Ian and the couple. Ned took another step back. Marriage and domesticity hadn’t quite tamed Mickey’s inner thug. He still had that ability to look slightly unhinged at the drop of a hat, and he didn’t hesitate no matter what neighborhood they were in. 

“I see you’re still banging little kids,” he mused, nodding at Ned’s date. The kid looked annoyed and ready to protest. “Shut up, twink. Do yourself a favor and dump his grandpa ass for somebody that might actually give a shit about you.” He went to take Ian’s arm, nudging him away, but threw a finger back at Ned. “Next time you even breathe in his direction, I’ll cut your dick off, perv!”

They had drawn some attention, and Ned was clearly embarrassed, ushering his date across the street and away from them. Ian took Mickey’s lead without hesitating or thinking about it. For one, it would be pointless. For another, he liked it when Mickey manhandled him. He may have been smaller, but he certainly wasn’t weaker, and he was as stubborn as a bull.

Mickey manhandled him into the foyer of the restaurant and put their name in again. Apparently, he’d waited for Ian instead of taking their table so they lost their reservation. Which was adorable. He was still looking flustered and ready to punch something, so Ian slid his arms around his waist and dropped his face to the side of his neck. 

“I’m okay, baby,” Ian crooned in his ear, pulling him firmly back against his chest. “Just caught me off guard.” 

“You so owe me for not kneeing him in the balls again,” Mickey hissed. There was sweat on his neck from stress, and he was giving off heat. Ian wanted to sink into it. He nuzzled into the side of his face. “Can’t believe that guy can still get it up.”

“Probably can’t,” Ian mused. “Stop thinking about him.” 

“I didn’t exactly _like_ the towelhead, but I _hate_ that motherfucker.” 

“Don’t see why,” Ian teased, pressing a kiss to his ear. “He’s the reason you kissed me, remember?” 

“I got shot in the ass not five minutes later,” Mickey pointed out huffily. Ian couldn’t help the laughter in his chest or the smile against Mickey’s skin. He was being surprisingly lenient about the PDA. Maybe it was because he was still so riled up, but Ian liked to believe he was also just more comfortable with himself. More tolerant.

“But he did do a good job stitching you back up.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Mickey grumbled. 

Ian laughed again, squeezing him and kissing his cheek. He settled his chin against Mickey’s head.

“Man, we were fucking idiots.” 

“Clowns. Dunno who we thought we were foolin’.” 

“Well you were _foolin’_ everybody except me, so.” 

“Shut up,” Mickey whined, leaning his head back against Ian’s shoulder. Ian kissed his cheek again and nuzzled there. 

“We got through it.” Mickey snorted. “Mostly.” They laughed together for a moment. Another hostess came back and lit up at the sight of Mickey.

“Oh!” she cooed, “he _made_ it, that’s great!” She leaned over the podium brows up as she grabbed menus. “We’re not supposed to do this, but I saved you guys some seats at the bar.” 

“Really?” Ian asked, confused by this whole exchange. Mickey was pulling away and looking sheepish. Clearly he had made friends while he was waiting. 

“Of course! I couldn’t let a _Karen_ ruin your big night.” She smiled brightly at them. “Follow me.” 

Their hostess, Katie, led them to the bar where there were two seats reserved right next to the tap, where a bartender was most likely to spend their downtime. It was surprisingly thoughtful and Mickey was blushing at her kindness. He must have been pretty upset to confide in some random girl. Or else, she was some kind of emotionally-constipated thug whisperer. Maybe both. Because she didn’t seem at all perturbed by Mickey’s hand tats, and Mickey asked for her opinion about beer. Things had definitely changed. 

Before she left, she congratulated them and made sure to tell the bartender their first round was on her. Which was incredibly sweet. Mickey just looked at him and shrugged, and Ian was relieved that the whole night wasn’t a wash when it easily could have been.

When they got their beers, they clinked them together.

“Happy anniversary, Mick.”

“Happy anniversary.” 


	2. Chapter 2

"You have got to be  _ fucking kidding  _ me," Mickey groaned, dropping his head and bringing his hand to his neck. "Ian, we need to get the fuck outta here."

Ian, his hyper-capable, incredibly sexy husband, who had fucked him stupid in order to trick him into agreeing to going to a fucking  _ farmer's market _ with the kids, was currently distracted. He was talking about duck eggs or some shit with the weirdo in the booth. Who the fuck had ducks in Chicago? This was such bullshit. 

Mickey didn't like big crowds, period. Big crowds in unfamiliar neighborhoods were even worse. But Ian was friends with a bunch of the moms who all went to the market on Saturdays and brought the kids, and it was  _ Franny _ , so Mickey couldn't say no, and then Liam got on this urban agriculture kick and there were fucking  _ engineers _ for that kind of shit...So here he was. Mickey Gallagher neé Milkovich was holding a tote bag of rabbit food in one hand, his niece's hand in the other, and his husband's ex who  _ shot him _ had just made eye contact.

"Gallagher!" he growled out impatiently.

"Just a sec," Ian answered absently. 

And now the pedophile was standing in front of him, frowning, holding hands with a white dude. A very tall, very pale white dude whose hair could be interpreted as red.

"Hi Kash!" Mickey said, loud and snide, pushing Franny behind him. "Who's your dude friend that's not your wife?"

Ian whipped around at this, bug eyed.  _ Finally. _

"Kash? Wha--?"

"Mickey," the man greeted warily, jaw tight and nodding, "Milkovich and  _ Ian _ ." He laughed through his nose. "This is...unexpected."

Mickey knew his brows were right at his forehead. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

"This is...the last place I would have thought to see you," he said sarcastically. Bitchily was a better word, actually. Because Kash was still a bitch. No surprise. 

"Yeah. Well. Prison got boring. You know how it is, what with you being a pedophile and all."

"What's a pedophile?" Franny asked, tugging on Ian's shirt to get his attention. Leave it to Ginger Junior. Ian leaned to pick her up quickly, putting her on his hip in a protective gesture. Mickey instinctively put a foot forward, wedging himself between the two of them and Kash. Who looked shocked.

"Not important, kiddo."

"But--"

"Where'd Liam go?" he asked, looking around. Mickey's eyes were locked on Kash and his...friend. The other dude was starting to look a little upset.

Kash pointed at Franny. "Is that your--?"

"None of your damn business!" Mickey snapped. Franny gasped.

"Bad word, Mick!"

He rolled his eyes when Ian snorted. 

"Yeah, so you get ice cream. What's the problem?" he demanded irritably. Franny actually seemed to ponder that for a second. Which was adorable. Then she shrugged. " _ Thank you _ ."

Kash, if possible, looked even more stunned.

"You--"

Before Mickey could snarl at him again, Ian stepped forward, angled toward Mickey but glaring at Kash.

"Yes, Kash, we're married. We're looking after kids. Nice to see you, glad you're out of the closet. Hope Linda and the kids are doing well. Bye." He whipped his gaze back to Mickey pointedly. "Where's Liam?"

Mickey jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Interrogating farmers," he informed him. Sure enough, Liam was a booth behind them with a clipboard and a phone, recording answers to his very specific farming questions. It looked like he was actually doing pretty well, too. Customers looked a little annoyed though.

"We should really get a handle on that before he starts building equipment."

"Yeah, whatever. I'll take rabbit food over his feral cat training phase. Cat thieves are not a thing! Can we  _ please _ talk about the fact that we keep running into your exes?" Mickey demanded. 

Ian's brow furrowed. "Bound to happen when we leave Canaryville for more than a second." He hefted Franny up and took one of the bags from Mickey. "It bother you?"

"It bothers me that they're all weird about us being together." Ian snorted. " _ Shut up _ . You know what I mean."

Mickey groused a little when Ian leaned in to kiss his cheek.

"Please don't let Kash and his weird not-me boyfriend ruin our day?"

"Thank  _ god _ , I thought I was losing it." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "That dude looks just like you."

"Not exactly a proud moment for me, babe."

"Unca E? Unca Mick said we get ice cream cause he said a bad word round normal peoples, so can we goes to the pig one ova there?" Franny inserted very casually, pointing to what was indeed a pig themed ice cream stall. Mickey stared at it for a second, trying to puzzle out the pig part. It was called  _ Oink Creamery _ , which was just--

"That is the stupidest name," Ian said, speaking his thoughts aloud. Mickey gestured in agreement. "Whatever..pig cream it is. Mick, can you corral Liam?"

"You want  _ me  _ to cut off his nerdgasm?"

"Watch out for the clipboard," Ian called over his shoulder.

Mickey hung his head again and shoved his hands into his pockets with a sigh. He wandered over to the stall where Liam was, pulling his chin in as he listened to the kid spit out some technical crap no one under the age of 40 should know. He was jerked out of it when someone tugged on his elbow.

It was Kash. Alone. And he was lucky Mickey didn't deck him for touching him in the first place.

"The fuck do you want?"

Kash put his hands back like he'd been burned or something. Like Mickey was the bad guy here. He smirked internally, maybe he was the bad guy in Kash's nightmares. Vaguely satisfying thought.

"Are you two really married? Like  _ actually  _ married, or--?"

Mickey waved his ringed up hand in his face. "Big gay wedding and everything. My old man burned down the first venue-"

"Well," Kash bobbled his head like that was only natural.

"But we got down the aisle anyway. Curiosity satisfied?"

Kash shrugged. "Not really. It's weird."

"Fuck you, we're not some sideshow attraction, all right? So just get back to your shitty life and your Gallagher stand-in--"

They were interrupted when Liam came to stand firmly between them, face scrunched up.

"Who're you?"

"I'm a friend of your father's," Kash said stupidly. Mickey scowled when Liam's face scrunched up further. 

"Frank doesn't have friends…"

Mickey snapped. "He's my brother-in-law you dumbass, and you'd know that if you weren't such a creep. Now can you fuck off so I can enjoy a day out with my family?"

As expected, Kash scurried off like the cockroach he was, leaving Liam with more questions. Mickey dismissed him with a wave.

"If I have to talk about it, I will punch somebody." A few people around them pulled faces and moved away. Liam just watched him.

"One of Ian's exes, huh?" Mickey glared at him for a long moment and Liam smirked. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Mickey sneered at him. "Are you done here or what?"

Liam sighed. "Or what. But I have their emails. Where's Ian and Franny?"

"Pig ice cream place."

"What?"

Mickey palmed his head and nudged him in the right direction.

"Have you not asked enough questions today? Seriously."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor--who isn't present in the fic.  
> It gets sad and sappy, people.

Ian was in an unbelievably bitchy mood. And it wasn't just Mickey noticing. Everybody was. The kids. Debbie. Carl. Sandy. First thing Lip said when he came over for some down time was: "Who pissed in your cheerios?" Ian had flipped his lid and skulked upstairs, leaving Mickey with Debbie, Sandy, and Lip at the table. Naturally, they all swung accusing looks at him.

"I didn't do _shit_ ," he said defensively. He really hadn’t. Best thing to do when Ian was in a mood was give him some space. Mickey had been walking on eggshells since he got home.

"Is he taking his meds?" Lip mumbled, shooting a furtive look toward the stairs, just in case.

"Yes," Mickey hissed, again, defensively. "He was fine this morning, right?" Debbie nodded as she drank her beer. "Right. He went out and came back pissed off."

"Franny cried," Debbie pointed out, making Sandy wince in sympathy.

"Well…" Lip prompted nonsensically, brows up. They were all looking at him expectantly again. Mickey flailed.

"Well _what_?"

"Well did you ask him where he went? What happened?"

"No."

"Why not?" Sandy snarked, taking a pull of her beer. "He got another husband asking?"

Mickey swatted at her. "Shut up, bitch. _No_. I'm not his fucking keeper. He just needs to cool off." He gestured uselessly. "Are we playing poker or what? Jesus christ."

Still, he shot occasional nervous glances toward the stairs every once in a while. Chewed his lip to hell. Maybe he should have asked. Ian was just usually more forthcoming about what upset him these days. His shrink said he couldn't expect Mickey to read his mind or to know everything he needed just because they had known each other so long. It must have been the kick in the ass he needed because he'd come home and demanded that they have a weekly date night. Somebody else would have to take care of the kids. No kid talk. No work talk. Just them. It was a reasonable request, if unexpected. But it didn't surprise Mickey that Ian was feeling neglected, they were both preoccupied and busy and stressed. Sometimes Mickey's attention was on the fire in front of him instead of the leak upstairs.

Whatever. That's not what this was. This was a single, specific thing his husband was chewing on. Gnawing, really. And there would be casualties if they didn't get it under control.

Their game broke up after 10, which, go figure. They were all law abiding citizens with jobs and rugrats to watch after. Responsible people didn't do lines of coke, take shots of cheap vodka, and play poker with criminals until the sun came up. He wasn’t in Kansas, and he definitely wasn't a Milkovich, anymore. Unsurprisingly, Mickey didn’t give a shit.

After Lip left, he shooed Sandy and Debbie out so he could clean up the kitchen and lock the house down. Debbie even kissed his cheek before she went up. 

"Just ask him," Debbie said. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Mickey nodded but didn't say anything. He wasn't so sure it was nothing. Gallagher optimism wasn't his thing. So maybe there was a little bit of Milkovich left. 

He turned out the lights and went up the stairs, slower than usual. Their bedroom light was on, but the door was closed. Mickey went in, hesitated in the doorway, and saw Ian sitting in the window, smoking. Neither one of them smoked as much as they used to. Liam nagged them to stop. At first. Then he did some social experiment on them, and somehow they just lost the taste for it. Only when they were really stressed did they indulge. Ian spared him a glance, but didn't say anything. Mickey rolled his eyes and shut the door.

He tried to remember what that shrink lady said about healthy communication or whatever. Something about not being passive aggressive or accusing or taking it personal. She said a lot of things, okay? Ian had nodded the whole time like he’d heard it all before, but this whole talking schtick was novel territory for Mickey. Milkoviches didn’t _talk_. They drank. Or shot something. Or punched someone. Which is why their rap sheets were taller than Liam. 

But then again, Milkoviches didn’t snitch or fall in love with dudes or take care of kids or pass drug tests, so what the hell? Besides, as previously mentioned, Mickey wasn’t much of a Milkovich anymore. Was worth a shot. 

"You done with your hissy fit yet or do we get round two tomorrow?" he snapped, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in the hamper. Okay, so aggressive, taking it personal, and accusing, check. But at least he was _talking_. Mickey puffed up, ready to fight when Ian opened his mouth to argue. But then Ian winced and his face crumpled. So did Mickey.

"Shit, man, c'mon, _don't_ \--" 

He was over to Ian's side, pulling him into his arms without hesitation. Ian was obviously crying and upset, but he wasn't all out sobbing, which was something at least. He managed to wrangle his husband into their bed and cuddled him close. Ian buried his face in Mickey's chest, snuffling against the sleeve of his own sweatshirt. 

"You wanna talk about it or do I need to go shoot somebody?"

Ian's wet laugh wasn't nearly gratifying enough, but it did make him feel better.

"No shooting people."

"Okay, good," Mickey agreed. "That's progress. So no one needs to die, but you're still crying, sooo…" he trailed off, making his husband chuckle again.

"I…" Ian cleared his throat and sniffed loudly, his hand drifting up Mickey's chest. "I ran into Trevor at Larry's office."

Mickey blew air between his lips, grasping for straws. "Trev-or…"

Ian snorted softly. "Before Mexico?"

"Ah." Right. That guy.

"And after. And for a while until…"

"Oh."

"Yeah," Ian whispered. "I did some not so great things."

"Like…"

" _You_."

Mickey tried and failed to hold back a laugh on that one. Ian smacked his stomach lightly, so Mickey laughed outright.

"I am not apologizing for that."

"I didn't ask you to," Ian snarked back.

"That was like in one of our top 10 fucks."

"Top 5. Are you going to let me finish?" Mickey opened his mouth and Ian immediately clamped a hand over it, sitting up to scowl at him. Mickey smirked and bit his hand.

"Don't set me up, then."

Ian sighed as Mickey lifted a hand to brush away a tear track from his cheek, brought fingers to his chin. 

"You were with him when your mom died," Mickey concluded. Ian nodded.

"And the Gay Jesus thing."

"Yeah, me and Manic Gallagher are old pals, I’m familiar with the process."

"He didn't...he didn't know much about it. He had a lot going on, too."

"So much he couldn't stop his boyfriend from recruiting for his cult and setting a van on fire."

Ian scoffed. "It was _not_ a cult-- And I kidnapped your kid, remember?"

"Firstly, you didn't kidnap him. You just...took him and didn't tell anybody. And when you did that, we got you _out_ of jail and into a program. _Remember_?"

Ian sighed, leaning back down against him, sliding a leg over his thighs as Mickey rubbed a hand up and down his back. 

"I wasn't good to him, Mick. Just like I wasn't good to you."

"Oh fuck off with that. We've beat the shit outta each other more times than I can count." Ian huffed a laugh. "And he just didn't know how to take care of you."

"I just kept wishing it was you. That you would just show up like always. Then I got mad when you didn’t. She was gone and you were gone…" his voice got tight and Mickey squeezed him and kissed his head.

"Woulda been there fast as I could."

"I know," Ian whispered. "You were." He leaned his head back to look up at Mickey. His eyes were still watery, but he looked more tired than anything else. Mickey held back his own tears at that and kissed Ian's forehead. 

"What he say to you?" Mickey asked quietly, not excited to hear the answer. Lip had some...choice words about this particular ex. Not because he was a bad dude or anything, but apparently he just was a little _too_ entertained by Gallagher drama. Which. Sometimes it was funny, but mostly just annoying as shit. Anybody who thought dealing with Frank’s dumb ass was fun and exciting needed to have their head checked. Ian clenched his muscles for a moment and then nuzzled into his chest again with a groan.

"Nothing, really. It was just...unpleasant. He kinda treated me like I treated Kash at the market when we saw him."

"Please don't bring up towelhead in our bed. This is a safe space."

Ian pinched him, which prompted some swatting that escalated into a mini-wrestling match. Mickey did manage to pin him, but probably only because Ian was tired from getting all worked up. Mickey dipped down to kiss him, open and dirty, knowing it wasn't enough to totally ease that ache. 

"I just missed you," Ian said, pulling away from the kiss, far enough to talk. "Everything _sucked_ and I just spiralled--"

"Shhh, Ian, baby we talked about this."

Another tear slipped, and Mickey was quick to wipe it away. Ian shook his head.

"He...I just wasn't expecting it. Threw me off."

Mickey slid down to lay next to him again, let his fingers drift down the side of his face to his neck. 

"That wasn't you." Ian tried to argue. "Nah, Gallagher, I know you. S'why I came home. You know that."

" _Yeah_ ," Ian whispered, his throat working hard. Mickey traced his jaw with his thumb.

"That guy was just a tourist. Didn't know any better. Can't half ass it with a Gallagher," he scoffed. Ian's smile stretched slowly across his face. "That's the quickest way to get your ass handed back to you," he teased. "Guy had it comin'."

"No he didn't. He's a nice guy."

"Kay. So why didn't nice guy keep you on the straight and narrow?"

"Remember what happened the first time you tried that?"

" _Ye-ah_ , it's called trial and error. Liam says that's the core of his science crap or whatever. There was just a lot of error. And punching people. And prison."

Ian sniffed. "Prison was kinda the highlight. First two months anyway."

"Fuck yeah, it was," Mickey smiled and let Ian kiss him light and easy. "He's part of your shitty backstory." Mickey shrugged. "And you're part of his. Maybe you're the reason somebody found him."

"He wouldn't even _talk_ to me."

"His loss. You're pretty great. All those weirdo moms say so."

Ian snickered. "The weirdo moms say I'm great?"

"No, they're weird. They say you're hot and I'm lucky and beg me to show them your dick pics." Ian rolled his eyes as Mickey kept teasing him. "Hey I tried to keep it PG, you pushed it."

"Oh I pushed it?"

"Yeah, you got a fat head from all the weird mom worship."

"My head is not fat and they do not worship me."

"Uhh yes they do, and if one more of em asks if the carpet matches the drapes, I will lose my shit."

Ian laughed between kisses, arms wrapping around Mickey as he settled down against him.

" _Lose your shit_?" Ian chuckled. "On some soccer moms?" He pressed a lingering kiss to Mickey's lips. "Goin soft on me, Milkovich?"

Mickey redoubled his efforts to shut Ian up with tongue and teeth and his hands sliding over his skin. He moaned when Ian's fingers threaded up through his hair. 

"Debs says, mmmmhhhm," he got distracted by Ian's tongue. "Not soft...house trained."

Ian dropped his head back on the pillow to bust out a laugh. 

" _Trained_? You're not a dog," he teased, smiling against his lips.

Mickey jerked his head. "S'what I said!" Ian's brows shot up as Mickey deflated a little. "Then she brought up that thing that one time--"

"I told you it's a _normal_ reaction--"

Mickey practically squawked in protest. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about it! Ever!"

Ian was laughing at him, but Mickey was having a hard time being upset about it. He was just so damn beautiful when he was happy. There was no reasonable explanation as to why they kept running into Ian's exes. Maybe the universe just really wanted to fuck with them. Wouldn't be the first time.

Ian lurched up to drag him back into another kiss. Hot and open and full of intent, Mickey hummed happily when Ian's hands snaked under his waistband. They had to fight out of their clothes, their quiet laughing barely taking the edge off the urgency. 

Ian was more desperate than usual, but definitely more gentle. Mickey in 2011 would have ripped this Mickey's balls off for letting Ian get too tender, too romantic, too soft. But this Mickey was older, wiser, and had developed some decent biceps. He'd beat the shit out of 2011 Mickey for denying them this. For denying Ian this. The love and the intimacy that came from knowing someone as well as yourself. 

"Love you," Mickey breathed into Ian's mouth as he slid into him. Ian answered by hugging Mickey to him, face pressed into his neck as he moved. Mickey just mumbled in his encouragement into his ear, hoping the message was loud and clear. 

He hoped they wouldn’t always struggle with their shitty early years.

He hoped Ian’s exes would get hit by buses or have heart attacks or something equally fatal and permanent.

He hoped Ian would accept that he was human like the rest of them, and nobody was a good person 100% of the time. 

He hoped and he hoped, and every time he did a little more of the Milkovich in him burned away, leaving just Mickey. Just Mickey who had always loved Ian Gallagher and wouldn’t stop even if he knew how. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is the LAST ONE  
> Running into Mickey's ex. Sorta.  
> 3 conditions: couldn't be a girl, couldn't be from prison, and couldn't be Byron.  
> Side note: this mysterious ex comes from the time Ian left for the army and Mickey was "married" to Svetlana. I just don't buy that he was hanging around, not drowning his sorrows and escaping his unfortunate situation on the regular.

It was a running joke now. Well, for Mickey, it was a running joke. Ian was getting kinda sick of talking about it. But, he assumed that this was how Mickey was handling the stress of being in unfamiliar territory. They had to sign some paperwork for Franny at DCS, since they were legally her guardians. Debbie’s parole was about to be up, but she was still on the sex offender registry, so they had to re-sign papers agreeing to keep custody of her. Their caseworker couldn’t make the trip to the house, so they had agreed to meet her downtown. Obviously, Mickey wasn’t happy. 

Ian slid a hand over his bouncing thigh, hoping to settle him. 

“You good?” 

“Dude’s looking at me weird,” Mickey jerked his chin in the direction of some random guy across the way. He snorted.

“He’s not looking at you, he’s high.”

“Still.”

“You need to calm down, or someone’s gonna think  _ you’re _ high.” 

Mickey scoffed. “This place smells weird. And it’s cold. And I keep waiting for one of your grandpas to come around the corner.” 

“O-kay,” Ian groused. 

“S’not my fault every time we go out, they pop up.”

“That’s a stretch.” 

“Probably the only guy we haven’t run into was that one kid from your class--”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 

“It was right after I got outta juvie. I remember cause I was gonna kill him, but it was school property, so.” 

Ian cut a glance over to his husband who was worrying at his lip even as he mocked Ian’s slutty youth relentlessly. He picked up his hand and snaked it around his shoulders, trying to make him more comfortable. 

_ “Gallagher _ ?” some lady called out their name and Mickey leapt to his feet in a rush.

“Thank fuck, let’s go.” 

They turned in Debbie’s release form, signed some papers, and scheduled another home visit. For once, Ian wasn’t sweating bullets about people inspecting the Gallagher house. They were down to one unregistered gun, no drugs, no alcohol, clean rooms, and only a mild case of mold. And maybe a broken window, but that was Carl’s fault for letting Liam hang stuff up unsupervised. There was some bickering about who should be home when the caseworker came. Ian was technically the blood relative, but Mickey knew more about her routines. They managed to find a 2 hour slot that worked for the both of them. All they had to do was make sure Debbie was bunking with Sandy (because that was her “official” residence), and they’d be good. 

To celebrate, Ian dragged Mickey to a bar around the corner for a drink. Mickey complained that the Alibi was cheaper, but it was weak resistance at best. They both very well knew that Mickey would have to socialize more if they went to the Alibi and people would ask questions, and Mickey would get pissed if anybody said something about Franny...this really was the better option. 

It was just about happy hour, so the place was pretty full. It was some kind of restaurant or grill, so it was low key enough not to give Mickey hives, but nicer than the Alibi for sure. Ian used his height to get the bartender’s attention and ordered their usual, while Mickey kept watch like a hyperactive guard dog. Ian had long since given up on curbing Mickey’s protective instincts. He wasn’t nearly as bad as he used to be anyway, just a little...touchy in some cases.

None of that explained why his entire body went tense and he locked onto Ian’s wrist so tight it would bruise, though. 

“Mick?”

His husband was wide eyed and pale, gaze directed at the floor while his breathing picked up a tick. He was going to ask what was going on when Mickey turned to snatch his drink from the bartender and downed it in one go. To further complicate matters, Ian was suddenly cut off from said husband by a tall guy in a tight shirt who seemed to not notice that he was infiltrating Ian’s personal space. 

But it wasn’t Ian he was focused on.

_ “Mickey _ ,” the guy practically purred, “what a surprise. Didn’t think you came up this way anymore.” 

At that tone, Ian’s teeth were set on edge. He jerked himself out of the corner the guy had wedged him into and back next to his husband. Who was blushing and looked absolutely horrified.  _ What the fuck _ ?

“I don’t--”

The guy kept talking like he didn’t hear him. “Well, if you’re not busy, my apartment is close by…” He shot a weird look at Ian, who could really only hear the blood rushing in his ears at the moment. “Trying to have conversation, here pal, so if you don’t mind..?” he gestured vaguely to dismiss Ian from their presence, and Ian felt his eyebrows shoot all the way up even as Mickey coughed to cover whatever reaction he was having. 

“ _ Actually _ ,” Ian growled, wedging himself between the two, putting Mickey firmly behind him as the guy straightened to full height. Which was damn near Ian’s. “I do mind. I do mind you trying to fuck my husband in front of me. So why don’t you,” he mocked the guy’s earlier gesture, “before we have a problem?” He felt Mickey’s hand on his arm, but didn’t look away from the asshole in front of him. 

He was good looking, too. Dark eyes, thick dark hair, dressed nice. He had a good face and a wide mouth, which was firmly set in a scowl now. He wasn’t Mickey’s go-to, that was for sure. Most of the guys Mickey hooked up with had been in juvie or prison. This guy clearly had not done any hard time. And he definitely wasn’t a girl either, so Ian was thrown off by the whole thing, and more pissed off than was reasonable or sane. Apparently, Mickey grabbing his arm had been a warning, because before he could get into it with whoever the fuck this guy was, bills were being tossed on the bar, and Ian was being dragged out the front door.

Mickey didn’t stop until they were a full two blocks away from the place. In the opposite direction of the bus stop, but Ian wasn’t really concerned about that yet. He was concerned about how upset and frazzled Mickey looked. And Ian wasn’t exactly known for his patience.

“You gonna fill me in on who that fuck  _ that _ was?”

“I don’t know,” Mickey answered quietly, still walking at a furious place and not looking at him. Ian balked, feeling that familiar knee jerk rage rear its ugly head.

“You don’t  _ know _ ? He knew your name, Mickey!” 

Mickey exploded, face, hands, and body, “I don’t know, Ian! I don’t know who the fuck he is or how he remembers me at all! All right?” Ian opened his mouth, ready to fire back just as hard when Mickey bent over at the hips, taking in deep breaths, looking ready to hurl.  _ Fuck _ . 

Silently, Ian wrangled him into the alley, leaning him against the wall so he could take his time. He squeezed the nape of his neck periodically, reminding him to breathe. Panic attacks were actually more common for Mickey than everybody thought. He just didn’t look like he was having a panic attack. Actually, he resembled Terry in a drunken rage, which Ian didn’t like to dwell on for too long. Used to be someone got beaten bloody when it happened. Not so much anymore. These days, he just needed some quiet. Sometimes, he needed to work off some energy. But mostly, he needed reminders to breathe, to know that he was safe, and that Ian wasn’t going anywhere. 

It took a few minutes, but eventually he straightened up and knocked his head back against the brick wall, eyes shut before he turned to Ian. 

“I don’t  _ know _ him, I just know  _ how _ I know him.” 

Oh.

They hadn’t talked about it much, but Mickey had mentioned that there were brief periods when they were broken up that he had gone outside of the South Side to blow off steam. 

“You were just  _ gone _ . And Yev...and Svetlana was on my case all the time, and Mandy--” He cut off with a grimace. Ian pulled him in by the head, kissed his temple. Mandy was still on Ian’s shit list at the moment. Mickey barely said her name, let alone admitted to missing her. Mickey cleared his throat hard. “Just wanted to...feel like myself for a minute.”

Oh. 

“You must have been shitfaced,” Ian guessed. Accurately. Mickey lifted his brows, still not making eye contact. 

“Lucky I’m alive, honestly,” he grumbled, confessing more than he probably wanted to. 

“But he remembered you.” Mickey nodded. “So you came up here more than once.” 

“Few times.” 

“Same guy.” 

Mickey gave a half shrug. “Quicker that way.” 

Ian snorted and leaned against the wall shaking his head. “Finally the tables turn.”

“Oh fuck you,” Mickey groaned. 

“No, I’m serious. I thought we were stuck getting my highlight reel. It’s nice to feel even again.” 

Mickey knocked his head back against the wall. “I hate you.”

“I’m kinda pissed you bottomed for somebody else,” he mused. 

Mickey’s expression turned from embarrassment to outrage. “You were a  _ stripper _ !” 

“Still.” 

Mickey scoffed and shoved at him. “You’re fine.” He pushed off the wall and started walking again. Ian chuckled, having to jog to catch up. He wrapped his arms around his very grouchy husband and kissed at his neck and cheek while he feigned resistance. People walking past them gave them a wide berth.

“Was he better than me?” Ian teased, biting at his ear. Mickey swatted him. 

“Screw you.” 

“I’d like to get to that, but only if you answer the question first.” 

Mickey tried to shrug him off, and Ian swore he laughed when he clamped his arms around him tighter. Not that Mickey would ever admit that. 

“If I say yes, will you get your giant ape arms offa me?” he griped half-heartedly. Ian just kissed at the side of his face. 

“Nope.” 

“Sure, fine, he was  _ so much better _ \--” Mickey cut off with a yelp when Ian manhandled him into yet another alley and caged him up against the wall. This time it was a little more pleasant, and Mickey didn’t hesitate to throw his arms around Ian’s neck to get leverage. 

They kissed furiously, unimpeded by their public setting. Ian had a strong hold around Mickey’s waist and kept them tightly together. Mickey’s hands angled his head and Ian didn’t hesitate to tangle their tongues and drink him down. It still rocked Ian to his core when Mickey kissed him like this, like he was dying for it. Like he needed Ian inside him however he could get it. It was heady and seductive, and it was precisely why they shouldn’t indulge in public anymore. It was just that Ian still remembered the days when he had to fight for it. So maybe, just  _ maybe _ , he got carried away. 

Mickey usually went right with him.

They made out, intent and focused on each other, until there was a crash and glass breaking down the alley that had Mickey reaching for the gun he didn’t carry anymore. Ian jerked his head back to get a look.

“Just a cat,” he mumbled, and dropped his forehead to Mickey’s trying to get his breath back. Mickey’s heart was beating really fast, and it was going to take a minute for Ian to calm the fuck down anyway. He pressed a few lighter kisses to Mickey’s lips, not really wanting to stop, but knowing they were going to have to catch a bus soon. He did  _ not _ need Mickey losing his shit on somebody for staring at his boner too long. No thanks. 

“I’m surprised you had to ask,” Mickey breathed out eventually, exhaling long and slow. His fingers moved to fix Ian’s hair now, repairing whatever damage done earlier. 

“Ask what?” Ian answered dumbly, a little too preoccupied with Mickey’s mouth to pay attention to their conversation. Mickey chuckled and kissed at his bottom lip, biting lightly, which was not helping Ian’s excitement levels. 

“Who was  _ better _ ?” Mickey reminded him. “Gallagher I know is too cocky for that competition crap.” 

Ian shrugged, lightly, “Thought I’d check. Only fair.” 

Mickey smirked. “Why? You had better ass than me?”

It was a tease, but not really. There were moments. They both knew it. That ugly self-doubt reared its head, twisted Mickey up in knots. Ian wasn’t proud of that. Didn’t like being reminded of all the sex he’d had when he was manic. Of all the people he’d used to drown out the noise and try to forget himself, and Mickey, for a while. 

Ian brought his hands up to Mickey’s face, shaking his head, making sure Mickey was looking at him when he said it. 

“No,” he whispered, barely making a sound. But they were getting dangerously close to sappy, chick flick territory in public and Mickey would never forgive him if he made him cry and then get on a bus full of people. 

“No, Mick, you are the best ass,” he emphasized that part and paused, “I have ever had.” 

Mickey shoved his tongue into the corner of his cheek. “You’re a dick.”

“What?” Ian feigned offense. “You asked me, I answered.” 

Mickey scrunched up his face to hide his smile and shoved at Ian’s shoulder to push away from the wall. He managed to successfully swat Ian away for a minute or two, but gave in to the arm around his shoulders with an eye roll. They even managed to catch their bus, no embarrassing boners or tears included. 

And if later that night, they had sex a little more enthusiastically than usual, then...only Carl was going to mention it. Because they shared a wall and he should have invested in some noise-cancelling headphones instead of those fancy speakers like Ian told him the first time. 

  
  



End file.
